


It's A High School AU But Not In Space

by Logomancy



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Unreliable Narrator, because high schoolers, because peepers has ~questionable motives~, sylvia is a little more reliable, there might be a little bit of cursing, they are human because it's not in space, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logomancy/pseuds/Logomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pablo, also known as Peepers, wants to take his first step as a future leader in life, and that step will land him in high school. Sylvia Zaborski is suddenly having the time of her life. Join the cast of Wander Over Yonder in this predictable yet classic alternate universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition!

**Author's Note:**

> If I don't post more than five chapters it means I regret this.  
> Otherwise, enjoy.

High school was never one of those products featured on brightly decorated shelves proclaiming that it was “ _as shown on TV!_ ” It was more like something you found at the back of a department store in the clearance aisle; not too great, but serviceable.

For me, high school ended up being a bizarre mixture of the two.

First, some background information, a necessity in any well-written paper:

I was one of many teenagers in my family, which was, just like the universe, ever-expanding. There was no natural explanation for this, as it is often assumed that a family that is in no way wealthy would prefer to have _less_ children. Alas, my family steadfastly refused to follow the laws of social physics, and thusly I found myself entering high school with a small army of siblings and cousins in tow.

I was determined to distance myself from them as quickly as possible. I had a reputation I wanted to present, and that was to be brilliant and powerful, and the lackluster abilities of most of my family was not what I needed to be associated with.

 _Fortunately_ , I also found myself with a formidable advantage, and it came as my best friend, Hater, who I’d known since middle school. His parents had originally given him an innocuous name of Harold, but as disgruntled middle-schoolers we shunned such mediocrity and decided on something that would strike fear into others’ hearts.

In retrospect it was a kind of stupid name, but it stuck.

Unfortunately, I was still Pablo. We weren’t able to think of a decent and simultaneously catchy nickname for myself (I mean, I thought up plenty, but it couldn’t have been better than Hater’s). So Pablo I remained.

If you opened a dictionary and searched for the word “brute,” you’d find a portrait of Hater. His intelligence was in need of several kicks to start working each day, but sometimes all you need is a menacing pose and one-liner to get the job done.

The job in question was to be intimidating enough that people began working for you, so that your name was spoken in whispers and between nervous glances.

To be ruthless was to be in charge, and to be in charge was the goal I was determined to reach. I could tell that Hater was bound to become something great, but for that to happen he needed a mastermind to pull strings, and that was me. I was the mastermind.

Hater came from wealth. My family had been working with (for) his family for ages. His parents decided to send him to public school on the account of it being “a slice of real life.” All the better for me, anyway.

His wealth was mostly flaunted in his spoilt-brat personality; by appearance alone you could be fooled, however. He wore the same hoodie every day, though I knew that it wasn’t the same one, after all, the idiot had _tons_ of hoodies that looked _exactly the same_.

High school was intimidating at first, but we managed to make our mark amongst the characters leading the pack. And believe me, they were an odd pack indeed.


	2. Cast List and Alignments

Similarly to the high schools shown in movies, you could categorize the people by groups and clubs.

However, unlike the movies, said groups and clubs tended to overlap quite a bit.

Exhibit A: Sylvia Zaborski.

She was dark, tall and stocky, and above all, dangerous. Her hair, sticking out on one side like a rooster’s comb, was dyed a hot pink for no discernable reason. I had her in a few of my classes, and although she was no prodigy she was bright and could keep up with even some of the most difficult concepts. She had little interest in history; her constant “yawning” often fueled my frustration with her.

She quickly became known for her cross-country prowess, as well as her victories in wrestling. The girls’ wrestling team, clearly only originally made as an after-thought, became a fiery bane of public schools with her leadership.

Exhibit B: Asshole Shark Guy

His name was, regrettably, not Asshole Shark Guy. But it might as well have been.

Dylan “Awesome” Amparo was the worst kind of idiot, and that was the Pretentious Douchebag™. With enough garish adornments to make even the most frivolous of European royalty weep, he sauntered around school flirting with everything that moved. Flirting would be an understatement; it was more like sexual harassment in _my_ opinion. With such an encounter forever traumatically embedded in my memory, I considered my opinion to be rather valid. Unfortunately, a good number of people continued to obliviously salivate at the chance of being invited to one of his fabled parties, Hater included.

His place in my life was only to aggravate the very fiber of my being, but he’s worth mentioning because it was due to him that I finally received my nickname.

He had somehow convinced Hater to join his posse, and Hater, eager for recognition as always, followed blindly. I had gotten tired of Awesome’s incessant gloating and took the chance to let him know everything I thought about him, which mostly amounted to “you’re a loser who pretends he’s cool because he has no actual friends or purpose.” I was promptly grabbed and roughened up (my short stature once again proving my downfall), but after a single punch Hater jumped into the fray. Awesome staggered from the fight with a blooming black eye and a possibly fractured arm, while Hater lost a tooth and I gained a spider web crack on my right lens of my glasses. The two of us had a great time laughing it off afterwards; Hater rejoiced in the possibility of a gold tooth. There was no money to replace my glasses, and so from then on I often had to close one eye to get a decent look at things.

Thus, the nickname: “Peepers.”

(Why didn’t ask Hater for money? Now, that’s a different story.)

As far as clubs, Hater and I went rather separate ways. I joined the robotics club and the chess club, while Hater joined the football team and, surprisingly, the drama club. Though a drama class did exist in the school, the real stuff happened in the club. Unsurprisingly, Awesome was there, along with some other insufferables, but Hater seemed to enjoy being on stage (as he should). Later, he and I both joined the gaming club, which involved more retro games than Hater’s reputation would have liked, but we and the club came to an… agreement about leaked information.

There was another club that we joined, and it was as cliché as it was unauthorized: the fight club. It was mostly just a bunch of kids betting on fights and getting in them. You could fight as dirty as you wanted. Zaborski was there, and she was a _menace_. I had almost bested her once, though it was after a long and tiring fight that most people were ready to call a tie. It was a good way to make some extra cash for me and to bolster Hater’s reputation.

Our first year in high school was rife with injuries and victories. I excelled in my classes, and helped Hater pass with more than my fair share of texting during class (the phone I used to text Hater was actually also his; why his parents let him have two phones is beyond me). I had nothing against cheating; if you wanted to win, you _won_. I made it a policy, however, to not cheat on tests unless absolutely necessary, because it would be an insult to my intelligence. People like Hater had no shame in cheating, and for that I admired him even more.

The rest of high school might have passed similarly if it wasn’t for the arrival of two individuals, vastly differing in personalities and the monumental change they caused in our drab little high school in the time we were there.


	3. He Wandered and We Wondered

His name was William. Absolutely run-of-the-mill name, a foreboding mirror to Hater’s. We all thought he was a freshman, at first, as most of the new faces tended to be, but it turned out that he was lumped in with the rest of us sophomores. He had perpetually messy orange hair, his face practically engulfed with freckles.

“Hello! It’s nice to meet you!” He started every conversation with a stranger in such a way. “Isn’t it such a beautiful day? What class are you going to?” And so on. He was almost always smiling, or laughing, or practically bouncing off the walls. Someone could have dropped a paperclip and he’d make sure that the clip would return to its owner, ridiculousness be damned.

To say that one event changed the school forever would be melodramatic, but it was the truth.

It went like this.

It was a Friday, thank god, so on so forth. Most people were sleeping in sixth period or gazing listlessly at the clock. Friday was fight club day, and I went over basic fighting techniques in my head. You needed to know a lot of tricks if you were small, and I knew a lot of tricks. Some freshmen had joined and most of us older kids were planning on giving them a good beating (we all had the memories of our own beating in freshman year). The bell rung, and I bolted. Hater was impatiently waiting for me the fence and practically tossed me over before climbing up himself. “I can’t wait to see the looks on those kids’ faces.” he said with a satisfied grin. “They’re going to be scared shitless when they see you.” I said, punching him in the shoulder. Cursing had become customary in my vocabulary, despite my aversion in younger years. Again, the contrast between our families: Hater’s parents disapproved of foul language, my mother and current stepfather wouldn’t care. Figures.

Zaborski was there with the others, and she gave us a grin of her own as she cracked her knuckles. “Gonna introduce these losers to the ladies.” she announced, holding up her fists. I glanced at them warily.

The freshmen came. Some looked like balloons, with their chests puffed out and overconfident swagger. Those I felt no remorse for knocking out cold. Then there were the scrawny ones, the ones that looked like they’d fight tooth and nail until the last minute because they needed that money more than anything else.

Basically, Hater was going to have a great time. He would have had, at least.

“Woah! Is this some sort of… _secret club?!_ ” came a high-pitched squeal. We all stopped to see William, looking especially petite in his oversized sweater and backpack.

“Oh, yeah.” Hater said. “It’s _really_ secret. Wanna join?”

William clapped his hands on his cheeks and gasped. “ _Would I!?_ Yes! Of course I would!”

The already frightened freshmen buried their heads in their hands.

“Is there some sort of… _secret inauguration?_ ” William said in an almost-whisper.

“As a matter of fact.” I began. “Yes.”

William might have imploded right there and then. I had no idea why he was so excited about group of people who were prepared to tear him apart, or how he had even got here. You didn’t just _wander_ into the fight club.

“What do I do?” he asked.

“You stand right there.” I told him, as Hater revved up for a punch.

“Okaaaay!” William sang, and Hater swung.

The cry of pain that was customarily expected did not come. Instead, Hater nearly lost his balance as he completely missed, as William had unexpectedly ducked down.

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

“I’m so sorry!” William cried. “It’s just, look at this butterfly! It’s so _pretty_.”

I glanced at the butterfly. It looked just like any other butterfly. I told him so.

He gasped in affront. “Don’t say that! It is a unique individual. You don’t look exactly like your siblings, do you?”

I stiffened. “Shut up.” I muttered.

“Oh my god. What is this? Listen, kid-” Zaborski started, but William interrupted. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, but I feel like this club is missing something.”

“…What.” she said. The rest of the club looked on, dumbfounded.

“A picnic!” he shouted, and reached into his large bag, rummaged around a little, and procured a picnic basket. I made a small noise of surprise despite myself. This was just too… _outrageous_. Nothing made sense anymore, all of a sudden.

“It’s just such a beautiful day!” Wander gushed. The sky was grey and cloudy and the sun tentatively peeked out every thirty minutes or so.

But, as if in a trance, the club sat down for a picnic.

“Guys?” Hater said. “No? What are you doing?”

Even Zaborski settled herself on the blanket.

“Seriously?” I screeched. She shrugged. “I either punch people while being hungry or I stop being hungry. Second choice is really calling me, pipsqueak. By that, I mean my stomach is calling me. _Really_ loudly.”

I waved my arms in protest, since I was absolutely speechless.

“Third choice is I punch you for trying to make me stay hungry. Got that?” she asked. I nodded.

Hater and I left without eating anything. My own stomach protested, but I was too angry to have second thoughts.

The fight club morphed into the school’s first community service club. It was almost comical to see the once-hardened fighters hand out bright flyers advertising toy drives. William donned his nickname, “Wander.” Our dark and dreary school transformed as Wander made his mark in the pitiful student government. Our walls became murals, flags adorned doorways, music played during lunch; even weather improved, as if even the sun wanted in on the fun.

Hater and I began our campaign to ruin Wander’s joyful character.

We tied his shoes together; Wander laughed it off.

We tripped him in the hallway; Wander turned it into a dance and started a party in the hallway.

We made sure he came late to class enough times that he got a detention; Wander ended up becoming the teacher’s temporary therapist as she wept about her relationship troubles.

As much as the idea of giving him a good ol’ beating was appealing, we could never touch a single curly hair on his ginger head. Not even a follicle.

Sylvia Zaborski, former terror of incoming freshmen, was now Wander’s best friend. Despite her new goody-two-shoes outlook, her fists were still in working order, according to painful observations.

Zaborski, most likely due to Wander’s insistence, ended up joining the robotics club. At this I seethed, because here she was, bound to take my spot as eventual president! Any potential competition that I had with her dissolved quickly, as I was more involved in the programming team while she worked with the engineering one.

The club crisis was soon from over, however.

Wander joined club after club after club, aside from his NHTH Club (Never Hurts to Help!). Art Club? He was there. Music Club? He brought his banjo to school every day, and then ended being some sort of musical prodigy. Knitting and Sewing? He was the one who _founded_ it. Gardening? Of course he was there.

But the real kicker was that he joined Drama Club. The club Hater was in, the one he practically _led_.

Wander joined Drama Club and the sponsoring teacher had already fallen in love with him from her class. He was “extremely talented” at one-man plays, due to his ability to “play almost any character realistically.”

Because of him, Hater ended up being called “too dramatic” for some leading roles that he utterly deserved.

The worst part? Wander was completely oblivious to the hate we harbored for him. He supported Hater in most endeavors, cheered him on at football games, and often tried to strike up friendly conversations with him and me. His tactics, clearly, were to aggravate Hater and me with his seemingly-innocent act. I refused to fall prey to his whims.

Hater fell hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #1: Peepers read Fight Club after fight club. That is the only reason he gives it this name in the story, since before it was just "that thing we go to so we can beat people up and feel superior, as we are."  
> Fun Fact #2: I had another Fun Fact but I forgot it so... #savewoy and all that y'all.


	4. Hater Has Zero Chill

“Wander said hello to me in the hallway today! I hate him!”

“Wander said that I should leave my hood down so people could see my face! Ugh!”

“Wander asked to borrow a pen from me! What’s _wrong_ with him?”

“Wander passed me a note asking what my favorite drink is!?”

“Wander asked the teacher if we could _both_ have the part for the play!”

“Wander invited us to his party!”

“Wander played a song for me on his banjo and it was good and I’m really mad!”

“Wander has, like, a little beard? It’s just scruff, but why don’t _I_ have a beard? He can’t have a beard before I do! He should shave!”

A pattern was beginning to emerge.

 

“PEEPERS!” I heard Hater screech. My mind frantically assessed the possibilities. Had I missed one of his texts? Did he get another detention? Was another teacher threatening suspension??

He sat down heavily in his customary seat across from me. I gave him a wild look. “What is it!?”

“Wander’s wearing a _skirt_ today!” he cried. I resisted the urge to let out a huge groan and bang my head on the table and instead let out a tight-lipped, “So?”

“hecooksmute.” Hater mumbled, slumping over the table with his head in his hands.

“What was that?”

“I SAID _HE LOOKS CUTE!!_ ” Hater screamed.

“Shhh!! _Shh!_ ” I shushed in a panic. “Do you want _everyone_ _in the cafeteria_ to know!?”

Hater stopped his fuming abruptly and pulled on his hoodie’s drawstrings. “No.” he muttered.

“Thank you.” I said, relieved, and then removed my glasses so I could properly drag my hand down my face as I sighed.

This was the last straw. I was _sick and tired_ of always hearing about Wander’s inexplicably endearing (and therefore irritating) details.

“Hater.” I began. I wasn’t sure how well he’d receive this information. Frankly, I was expecting him to implode. “…Have you ever considered that you might be, well, _gay_? To an extent!”

There was a moment of silence between us, and I mentally attempted to calculate how fast I could reach the nearest exit.

“Uh, yeah, okay, sure.” Hater said. I shook my head and sat up straight. “Wha?” I said, bewildered.

He leaned to the side, resting one arm on the table while he inspected the nails of the other, one leg crossed over the other in the perfect picture of apathetic ease.

“Geez, Peepers. I’m not the kind of guy to freak out over that kind of stuff. I’m pretty open-minded, y’know.”

What a relief! I allowed myself to breathe a little easier. “So, I think it’s pretty safe to assume you’ve got a crush on Wander.” I finished.

“ _WHAT_?” Hater roared. This time I allowed a groan and rested my head on the tabletop. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I could be anywhere else but here.

Hater continued shouting nonsensical drivel about how there’s _no way_ and _what’s wrong with you_ and I could feel my patience running out at an ever-increasing acceleration.

“Listen to me.” I said. Hater glanced me and continued his tantrum. “Shut up and _listen to me_.” I growled, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie. Hater quieted. “There is _no way on Earth_ that you _don’t_ have a huge, obsessive, and _incredibly time-consuming_ crush on Wander. I hear about him from you _every damn day_.”

Hater slumped down again. “I know.” he moaned theatrically. “Peepers, how do I make it go _away_.”

Here I paused. I… had no idea, really. I didn’t have much practice in the romance area, what with my diligent involvement with schoolwork. “Um. Find someone _else_ to have a crush on?”

Hater blinked. “Peepers.”

“…Yes?”

“You’re right.” he said with a tinge of amazement.

“Thank you?” I replied tentatively. The bell rung, and students began to shuffle to their classes, Hater and I included.

“Just you wait, Peeps. I’m going to find someone _so hot_ that you’ll never hear the name Wander from me again!” Hater announced. I grinned and slipped into class, giving the teacher a little nod.

To never hear about Wander would be a blessing. I felt blissful, almost as if I was floating among the clouds outside.

Then a realization pulled me violently down back to earth.

Hater might stop talking about _Wander_ , but now he’d talk endlessly about someone else.

I closed my eyes and prayed he’d find someone tolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapter lengths vary, so does the chronology. This is a lot of experimentation.


	5. She Might be a Better Narrator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camera settles on Peeper’s slightly distressed expression, then moves suddenly in a transition to another room. Camera pans across classroom to focus on Sylvia Zaborski. (That’s your cue)

I scribbled something that could be considered decent notetaking by a chicken. I looked at the rest of the class. There were some kids looking like they were paying attention, but another was definitely doodling, _that_ guy was snoring it up in the corner, and those kids in the back were just playing videogames. Standard fare.

I glanced at Wander, who was staring owlishly out the window. The seating placement was becoming the pane of my existence. Bane. Not pane, dammit. The effects of Wander’s “punpalooza” still lingered, and I worried that I was forever afflicted.

“Wander.” I hissed.

Wander blinked.

“Waaaandeeer.” I called. He blinked twice and shook his head.

“Oh no! I started daydreaming again! I didn’t even notice.” Wander said, his voice almost inaudible. Couldn’t interrupt the hardworking teacher, after all.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got the notes you missed for you to copy.” I said, gesturing to my notebook. He gave the scribbles a look. “Yes...” he said. I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll dictate them for you.” He gave me a wide-eyed expression of concern.

“Sylvia! I didn’t mean to insult your handwriting! Even if it’s not perfect, it’s just another part of what makes you special!

I laughed. “Wander, it’s fine, I swear! I _know_ my handwriting looks like shit. But thanks anyway.”

Wander beamed, and I smiled back ruefully.

Wander’s unending kindness and optimism was a strange thing to behold, that’s for sure. But you didn’t find these kind of people very often, the ones whose very presence could light up a room.

Wander wasn’t going to fight anyone. I knew for a fact that if someone managed to land a hit on him, he’d just take it and try to help the person “redirect their violence.” Oftentimes I wondered if he’d been homeschooled at one point, but I had scant evidence with little proof.

Nevertheless, I took charge of the situation. If Wander wasn’t going to fight back, I’d fight for him. Even though most tense situations ended up with an unexpected resolution, I was always ready to partake in some violence if it meant that Wander wasn’t at the receiving end of a punch.

Most of my issues were with Hater and Peepers, and Peepers’ cousins and siblings who often worked as rather ineffective minions. I would have loved to avoid them for the rest of my life if it wasn’t for the fact that Wander had this… _obsession_ with converting Hater and Peepers to the good side. Never change, buddy.

I waited after class to ask. “Where are we going today? After, uh, Music Club, I think?”

Wander scratched his chin. “Weeeeell… I was thinking the park, today? It’s not too hot or windy out, and some fresh air is _always_ spectacular!”

“Fresh air, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad.” I said, and he grinned up at me. “Alright!! Then it’s decided!” he announced dramatically, pointing a finger in the air.

“Yeah. See you after class, buddy.” I told him, and offered a high-five. He gave it an exaggerated look of disgust.

“ _Sylvia_. What are you doing!?” he exclaimed. I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Alright, alright.” I said, and opened my arms.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he said, and we hugged. Yes. It’s incredibly sappy. Shut up, he’s my best friend.

“ByeSylviaseeyouinthebandroom _Iloveyou_!” he called as he rushed off. I shook my head and made my way into the next class.

“Zaborski.” Peepers said, eyes narrowed.

“Pipsqueak.” I retorted, and sat down.

I could feel his glare burning into my neck. I sighed.

I hated seating arrangements.

(And also school rules preventing me from throwing him out the emergency exit.)

\--

“Sylvia! I made a new friend!” Wander called as I walked into the band room. Music Club seemed to have wrapped up early today. He was sitting on one of the many chairs arranged in neat rows; next to him sat a small freshman who seemed vaguely familiar.

“His name’s Westley! Westley, this is my friend, Sylvia, the one I told you about!” Westley turned to face me and the shock almost caused me to stagger backwards, though I should have gotten used to it by now. Yet another member of the Peepers family brigade.

“Oh, uh. I know her.” he mumbled, swinging his legs in a way that would have been endearing if it wasn’t for my immediate mistrust.

“Wow! That’s amazing. The world really is a small place!” Wander continued. I sat down next to Westley, and he cowered just a little.

“Are you one of Peepers’ brothers?” I asked him. Wander strummed his banjo.

“Um. No. I’m his cousin. One of his cousins? Yeah.” he said, staring at the wall as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“What brings you here to the band room?” I asked. Wander stopped strumming for a moment.

Westley straightened. “I came here to find Wander.” he said with a defiant tone.

“And you found me!” Wander announced with glee.

Westley tapped on the side of his chair several times, then spoke again. “Uh… Peepers said you guys were horrible? And that you’d trick me, or something.” He looked back and forth between us, as if waiting for us to break out into maniacal laughter and strap him to the chair.

Wander shook his head vehemently. “We’re not trying to trick you! I’m just playing my banjo. You want to try?”

Westley stared at him. “Uh! N-n… what if I break it, or something?”

Wander laughed. “This thing? Nah, it can handle a first-timer!”

Westley muttered something under his breath. “What was that?” I asked him.

He looked a little mortified. “I! Um. I just said that I wasn’t a first-timer. I had lessons!”

He paused. “On Youtube. And they were guitar lessons, and I don’t have a guitar.”

Wander squealed a little. “Well, here’s your first in person lesson, except with a banjo!”

We spent more time in the band room than I would have liked, but Wander was having a good time. Now Westley, he looked like he’d just found El Dorado. He finally managed to play a simple tune and we cheered, and he had stars in his eyes. We ended up walking him home as the rest of his family had already left on the bus without him (a little sad, but to be frankly honest, this seemed to be a common occurrence with various members of the family).

Right before we reached his neighborhood, Westley pulled me aside. “Hey. Peepers told me to break a string on Wander’s banjo. I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, bewildered. “But you didn’t!”

Westley looked down at his shoes. “Yeah. I just felt bad because I was thinking about it?”

I smiled. “Wander tends to have that effect on people.”

Wander promised Westley more lessons in the future, and seeing his overjoyed face made the extra wait worth it for me, at least a little.

I ushered Wander out of that neighborhood as quickly as possible, because a) There was a chance Peepers could see us, and b) Wander could decide that Peepers was in need of help and I was pretty sure that the gesture would not be as appreciated as Wander would have liked.

“Good thing we’re not too far away from the park!” Wander exclaimed. “You up for some more walking?”

“Walking? Heck, I’m up for some _running_. Get over here.” Wander laughed as I perched him on my back, piggyback style. “Ready, buddy?”

“Ready!”

And we were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Sylvia keeps her stuff in a messenger bag with a strap that’s fit snugly enough so that when she runs it doesn’t flop around as much. Sylvia considers the weight of Wander’s backpack a worthy challenge to bear. Wander’s a tad worried, though.
> 
> p.s. #savewoy (the one in space)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That One Ray of Sunlight

Neatly trimmed grass. Children shouting. Parents with mildly offended expressions talking into phones. The sound of cars zooming past, occasionally honking for no discernable reason. That one dog that kept yapping at everything that moved.

Ah, yes. The park.

“That’s such a cute dog!” squealed Wander at the first dog he saw. “That one’s cute, too! Sylvia, look at that _big_ one he’s so fluffy I want to hug him!!”

A kid on roller skates nearly barreled into us, but we jumped out of the way in the nick of time. Wander kept gushing about dogs. I barely refrained from screaming a curse at the child.

“Wander, dogs are wonderful, I agree. _But!_ We came here to do homework! So, let’s do that, and then later you can pet every dog.” I said, grabbing his hand and making a beeline to an empty gazebo.

“Whew, thanks, Syl! If it wasn’t for you I’d be petting dogs all day! Oh, and I can’t forget to say hi to the cats around here, Spoopy Sunbeam and Zebpatches like to hang around the bushes, and of course there’s that nest in the tree next to the tennis court, the one that’s slightly bent-”

I stopped in front of the gazebo and put my hands on Wander’s shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. “Wander.” I began. “We came here to do _work_ and to _focus_ on the work. If you can do that, if you can prevent yourself from getting distracted, we’ll be done in no time and you can say hello to every bee if you want. Can you do it?”

“Yes! I’ll try my best!” Wander announced, saluting. I smiled. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

Despite his and my best efforts, he still got distracted, but maybe not as much as he would have without me around. At one point some kids got a football stuck in a tree, and, well, he _had_ to help. I refused to let him off the homework hook and read vocabulary words out loud, keeping a watchful eye for weak branches.

“Wander, what does ‘caveat’ mean?”

“A warning? To discourage certain behavior!”

“Alright, good. Heh, how about, ‘extricate?’”

“Whoops- um, to free from entanglement or remove with effort! Hey, that’s what I’m doing!”

“Ooh, almost there, buddy, and don’t step on that branch- what does ‘salutary’ mean?”

“Beneficial, helpful, healthful, and wholesome! Got it!” He held the football aloft with one hand, and tossed it down to the waiting kids below. One ran off immediately while the other yelled, “Thank you!” before following suit. Wander clambered down a few branches and then called to me. “Sylvia! Catch me?”

I shaded my eyes and judged the distance. “Yeah, hold on, let me put down this workbook.”

He leapt nimbly from the tree, and was caught somewhat gracefully by me. I set him down. He grinned, euphoric and well-intentioned as always, and I couldn’t muster up any real frustration.

“Let’s do some math.” I said, and he groaned dramatically.

The park was one of our many study spots in town. Sometimes we’d go to one of the cafés around, or the library, or even stay after school. My house was a rare option, as my brothers were a rowdy bunch, my grandmother was inexplicably suspicious of Wander, the television was constantly on and blaring, and my mom would _always_ interrupt for some inane reason and it was just _terrible_ for focusing on anything. Wander said that he didn’t really mind, but I minded, all right.

Wander’s house was the exact opposite, which was great for focusing on homework. But it had its faults.

There was no one there except Wander whenever I came. I had often stayed pretty late and there would still be no sign of parents, but it was clear he was being taken care of by _someone_ besides himself. After all, it’s not like he was paying for the house! He assured me that his parents just came _really late_ from work every day, and that I shouldn’t worry.

But whenever I came over, it just felt too empty and sort of sad. It had the sort of silence that made you want to whisper, and the image of the two of us in an empty home whispering to each other as if we were afraid to be found in _his own home_ was unsettling.

I had gotten a glimpse of Wander’s elusive guardians only one time.

On one of the few occasions that we had went to his house for homework (cafés were unprecedentedly full, there was a thunderstorm so they closed the park, library closed due to remodeling), we worked and studied long enough for it to get dark outside.

I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Wander alone in this strange silent place, home or not. I had made the excuse that my mother would not want me going home alone in the dark like this (sort of the truth) and was it okay if I stayed for the night? Wander had immediately gotten super excited over the prospect of a _sleepover_ , and zipped around preparing for “the best night of our lives, but not too crazy because we have to wake up early tomorrow.” I had taken this time to call my mother to explain the situation.

“I’m assuming you’re telling the truth and not doing something _strange_ tonight… I’m joking, Sylvia.”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious, Mom.”

“Listen, Sylvia? Wander’s a good kid. He’s always got a place at our home, if he needs one, even if Granny gets a little weird around him. I just want you and him to know that, alright?”

It was very rare for people in my family to show signs of sentimentality, and if we did, that meant we were dead serious. It also meant that I had no idea how to respond, so I managed a stammered “thank you.”

Wander and I had a great time that night, mostly just goofing off. He even pulled a karaoke machine out of nowhere, and I goddamn _love_ karaoke.

After several rounds of “good night” we finally fell asleep. Now, I consider myself a selective deep sleeper. This particular night, I had selected _not_ to sleep deeply. After all, once Wander actually settled down to sleep, he was almost impossible to return to the land of the conscious, and someone would have to wake him up.

(I wondered, in the middle of the night, what miracle caused him to rise every morning.)

I had awoken about thirty minutes before I planned to wake up Wander. The door opened, slightly, and I had a moment of panic, but it soon dissipated into thin air.

“…He’s asleep, isn’t he?” asked a voice in sotto voce. “Yeah. So is his friend.” said another.

I tried to breathe convincingly.

“I’m glad.” said the first voice with a little sigh. “He’s always needed a good friend.”

I had felt extremely uncomfortable. This conversation had in no way been intended to be heard by me, nor did I know these people.

“He pulled out that dusty karaoke machine, remember when we used to sing with that?” asked the second, wistfully. There was a moment of silence in which a conversation too heavy with emotion to be expressed with sound passed between them.

“We need to go.” said the first voice finally, and then there was another silence, and then a whisper. “Have a great day at school, Willie. You too, Sylvia. Take good care of him.”

The door had creaked shut, and there had been a sizeable lump in my throat. I had sat up to see that Wander was doing the same. “They just left for work!” he announced. “So it’s time to _rise and shiiiine,_ even though the sun ain’t out yet! We’ll greet it first, then!”

That was the night when I learned three things: studying at Wander’s house resulted in a far more emotional experience than one would expect, that Wander did indeed have parents, or guardians, of some sort, and that Wander, who would and could sleep through sirens, helicopters, and alien invasions, was woken every morning by the sound of a closing door.

I put aside my own work and looked over his answers on his math homework. “You multiplied instead of added in number twelve, and you factored a little awkwardly in number fifteen, but aside from that you’ve got a perfect paper!”

Wander cheered. “Can we go around the park now? I _really_ wanna hug that dog. And say hi to the cats.”

I smiled despite myself. “Alright, buddy. Lead the way!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #1: Wander feeds the stray cats in the neighborhood on a daily basis. They come to his house rather often, so it’s not always empty. You’ve heard of Spoopy Sunbeam and Zebpatches, but there’s also Smudge, Mottle, Chocobobo, Dippin’ Socks, Khoshekh, Bandit…  
> Fun Fact #2: This story now has more than five chapters.  
> Fun Fact #3: My very good and great friend (and future many-cat owner, probably) provided the cat names.  
> #savewoy, new episode on June 30, guys! 8:30 EST I think

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I have no idea what most characters' last names will be.


End file.
